Memories
by Flawless Beauti
Summary: They were five, eight, fifteen... BillTom, TomBill Ideologically Sensitive Material


**Disclaimer: If you think I own these people you should have your head examined. And get out of mine.**

**Warnings: Slash, twincest of the RL kind, suicide [kinda], death [kinda].**

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They were five.  
Their dad was gone. They could tell he wouldn't be back by the harsh words that had been shouted back and forth, by the occasional crashes and the sound of shattering glass, and by the final slam of the heavy front door and the muffled sobs of the remaining parent.

_He held onto me tightly, as I shook. We were under the bed with pillows, terrified to move from our 'safe place' lest he decide to include us in the shouting. It had never happened before, but we were so frightened it would start that day. As the door shut and our mother broke down into tears the reality hit me as much as it could. I started crying. He never let me go and never shed a tear. I knew I could always lean on him._

They were seven.  
The other boys were mean. They liked to scare him when his brother wasn't around. They told him the monster under the bed would be waiting for him that night. When he found out why his younger twin wasn't sleeping after a few days he had sat beside the bed the entire night, armed with only a rubber sword and vicious scowl. That was when they decided to start sharing a bed again. He never had a problem sleeping after that.

_I always felt safe around him. I knew without a doubt they couldn't touch me; nobody could. Not if he was around. I never had a bad dream when he was there, his arms wrapped securely around me. It was the best feeling in the world._

They were ten.  
They said he was too girly to play with them. They said he should go play with dolls instead. They threatened to cut off his hair. They pushed him down and he skinned his knee. He had never seen his brother so angry. That day four boys went home with bloodied lips and torn clothing. He wasn't one of them.

_He told me not to listen to what anyone else ever had to say, because they didn't matter. He told me he loved my hair and to never cut it. He told me I was beautiful. He told me I was more manly than he could ever be, and even though I knew that wasn't true it still made me smile. I was never worried about what anybody said to me after that. All that mattered was what he thought, and what he thought was that I was perfect. _

They were fourteen.  
It was the age of discovery. Hormones, foul language and broken rules ran amok. He was still shy and withdrawn. Girls? They were still the same as they had always been. He couldn't see why they were suddenly such a big deal. It was the time of their first fight; the first time his brother had ever been on the opposing side. It was the first time he had ever felt alone.

_He apologized after but all I could hear were his words playing over and over in my head. I was a wuss. No better than a girl pretending to be a man. Those words had been spoken to me so many times but they never hurt as they did when he said them. I know he realized that and had regretted the words as soon as they were spoken but it still hurt, especially since they were only said because his friends were nearby. I let it go. Again. Again. Again._

They were sixteen.  
He had yet to have his first kiss. His brother hadn't teased him about it in a year. He thought girls were better suited as friends. His brother had a different one in his bed nightly. They had just taken to sleeping apart. His brother was growing colder to him. He had managed to learn to put up a mask, but not when it came to his other half. The tears ran as silently as the blood until they were caught.

_He wasn't supposed to be home. He was spending the night with Jessica –or was it Jennifer? Maybe that was the one from last night- and I had expected him to stay out so my door wasn't locked. He opened it when he wasn't supposed to. It was the first time I had seen him cry, as he shakily bandaged them up and wiped away my tears. He asked me why even though he knew the answer. _

They were seventeen.  
His twin stole his first kiss. He didn't mind. He had hoped for it since that night, almost a year before. It was sweet and tender and not at all what he had expected. But he loved it. He craved it even. He began to notice the girls his brother paraded into his room. He became aware of what jealousy was. He bit the inside of his lip and prayed for night to come.

_My brother stole all of my firsts. I don't think he fully realized how much I had given to him. I loved him but I began to resent him. I hated those girls. Did he have to play with them under my nose? During the day he wouldn't spare me more than a glance as the sluts hung off either arm. But at night he did. All the attention I had been craving during the day was lavished on me at night. I wanted to ask him to stop. Stop the girls. Stop the teasing. Stop whatever it was we had, I didn't really care. I needed something to stop._

They were twenty-three.  
It had been four year since the showdown. Four years since he told him exactly what he felt. Four years since he had broken his first knuckle hitting his brother. Four years since the same brother had crawled back to him, a light of understanding finally in his eyes and begging forgiveness. Four years since they devoted themselves to one another exclusively. Nobody else. They way it should be.

_It was our anniversary. Not that anybody could know that. He blew me away with the plans he had made and then drove me wild with the gentle touches. The entire night seemed like a fairy tale; it was so perfect I knew it couldn't last. I wish for once I was wrong._

They were twenty-four.  
He sat by his bedside every day and every night. He was allowed in only because he was the last family member. They said he wouldn't make it. He trembled, murmuring in his ear and kissing his lips when nobody was looking. After a month his body could no longer fight the inevitable, and his twin died in the hospital with his brother by his side.

_I knew it was masochistic, watching him slowly die before my eyes each day. But I kept remembering when we were little. I always felt so safe around him. He never left my side when I needed him. When we were five, ten, fifteen. The memories flew by and as they came I told him each one. I loved him. I love him. I died that day with him. _

It was the day after his funeral. He had wanted to scream from all the well-wishes and hugs he had received. The tears everyone shed made him feel sick. What did they have to cry for? They hadn't lost a part of themselves along with a brother and a lover; a protector and a best friend. Instead he had nodded and forced several smiles. He had sat through the service and managed not to break down as the dirt was poured into the hole.

But now was the day after. A week since he had died. Twenty-seven hours since he had been put into the ground. Twenty-three hours since his breakdown. Seven hours since his epiphany. Three hours since he had written the note that they would find. Two hours since he had arrived at the place where they celebrated their four year anniversary. Two hours of doing nothing but looking down onto the city below and remembering. He sighed and slipped forward.

For a moment he was five again, and they were curled under the bed. They were eight and running away to join the circus. They were fifteen and dealing with emotions neither wanted to deal with. They were seventeen and their first kiss. They were nineteen and he was yelling at him _why don't you understand I gave you my heart you fucking bastard? Why don't you understand it can only be you? _

They were twenty-four and the day before the crash that would lead to this moment. Their last touch. His last smile. Him mouthing the words one last time and telling him to never forget. The ground rushed to meet him and then he was beside him once more, that cocky smile and an exasperated but amused expression on his face. He was laughing and they were touching and everything was suddenly all right in the world. That void within him had been filled and he was whole again.

He awoke.  
Another hotel room that they wouldn't stay in long enough to fully enjoy. "What is it?" He glanced over at his twin and smiled. "I was dreaming." An annoyed huff. "I know that." He smiled and stretched, aware he shouldn't feel this good about a dream in which he had jumped off a cliff. "Do you remember when we were five?" He asked. "Of course I do." He nodded. "I thought you would. I was dreaming and thinking and remembering all at the same time."

His twin laughed. "You died." The laughter stopped. "And then I jumped off a cliff." He was suddenly engulfed in a hug that he was too familiar with. The scent of _him_ was all he could smell. "I'm sorry Billi." Bill laughed and pulled back but only for a moment before he leaned forward and pressed his lips soundly against the others. "It ended well though." Tom shook his head. "We were dead." His brother corrected him. "We were together. Now I'm going to shower." He pranced to the bathroom and when he came out he pretended not to notice the red eyes or soft looks he was receiving.

His brother was too sentimental for his own good really.

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**This has been on my computer for forever so I decided to upload it.  
:giggles: I fail at writing real people /anything/ and yet it's addictive I swear. XD**


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